


The Dragon's Court

by RhaenaTargaryen28



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhaenaTargaryen28/pseuds/RhaenaTargaryen28
Summary: After Princess Shaena has been spoiled by the Smiling Knight, King Aerys decides to seek an allegiance with the North.





	1. The Question of a Betrothal

Thick snowflakes were coating her cloak by the time she returned home. Old Nan chided her like always.

She was a child of winter and a Stark. No icy wind could frighten her, though her nose felt as if she had dipped it in a heap of snow.

After brushing off the dirt from her boots she watched as Old Nan dried her warm fur cloak near the warm hearth.

“One of these days we are going to find you frozen in the snow, foolish child.”

Lyanna chuckled and stripped naked.

Once she had pulled off her riding breeches she searched the strongbox for a warm wool dress and her warm stockings.

“Would you help me with the dress, Old Nan?” she asked after she had stepped into her new dress.

“Come here,” the old woman grumbled and quickly fastened the bindings of her dress. “Done.”

“But brush your hair before speaking to your Lord Father,” she chided her kindly. “The Lord sports an ill mood.”

This roused Lyanna’s curiosity.

“How so?”

Old Nan sighed.

“I am sure he is going to tell you himself. Now off with you child.”

…

Her father’s long face was cast in a deep frown when she joined him for supper.

Only her little brother Benjen seemed unaffected by their father’s ill mood, but that had always been so.

Ben was a ray of sunshine what would remain optimistic no matter the circumstances.

“Old Nan says you received dark tidings, Lord Father,” Lyanna remarked politely after she had shoveled a spoon of broth into her mouth. It was sweet and soft. Just perfect, but she was curious about the reason for her father’s obvious displeasure.

“Not dark tidings per se,” her father replied, his sharp grey eyes meeting hers across the table. “You are to be promised.”

Lyanna’s nearly dropped her spoon.

“To whom?” she asked, trying to regain her composure. She was only ten and three. She had hoped for a few more years of freedom before she would be betrothed, though her Lord Father had made such allusions towards Ned’s friend, the Lord of the Stormlands during their last visit in the Eyrie.

“Robert Baratheon?”

“No,” her father replied in a somber tone. “The King wants to see you wed to his son.”

“The Prince?” she asked. “You are jesting with me? Why can’t the Prince wed his sister Princess Shaena? Isn’t that what Targaryens do?”

“It is well-known that the Princess has been spoiled by the Smiling Knight and has joined the Silent Sisters,” her Lord Father replied. “The King also wishes for a Lord Paramount’s daughter and there are not many matches of this sort available. The Dornish Princess has recently been wed to Baelor Hightower, Lady Catelyn is already betrothed to Brandon, a second daughter would not please the King and Lady Cersei is out of the question due to the King’s constant quarrels with his Hand Tywin Lannister.”

“Which leaves you, sweet sister,” Benjen added jestingly. “You are very fortunate.”

Lyanna felt the urge to throttle him, but that would displease her father.

“Can’t you refuse?” Lyanna pleaded with her father, but his stern gaze told her everything she needed to know.

She would have to leave the North behind and join the Dragon’s Court.

The thought made her shudder, but she didn’t want Benjen to see her fear. She was too proud.

“I understand,” she replied and lowered her head in acceptance. “How much time have I left?

Her father’s sad look told her that it would not be for long that she could remain here in the North.

“Not long, my dear child. The King has dispatched his Kingsguard to ride North.”

“Will you call for Brandon?” she asked. “Surely he will attend my wedding?”

“I have already called up on him,” her father confirmed. “Ned will probably attend too as Robert Baratheon is kin to the Targaryens and will surely be invited.”

 _He is not going to like that_ , Lyanna thought with amusement. It was the only light in a future clouded in darkness. At least, she wouldn’t have to wed Ned’s beloved. If her brother had been born with woman’s parts Robert Baratheon would have long run away with him. Lyanna would have only been meant to be her brother’s substitute.

…

Three moons later, the Kingsguard arrived. Three men garbed in snow-white cloaks and armed to the teeth.

Only the youngest of the three, no other than Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning, graced her with a smile when he helped her in the saddle of her wild courser _Stormchaser_.

Brandon was right beside her and accompanied by good twenty men. Among them were his drinking companions and three men from her father’s household guard.

Her father had decided to remain behind to give Benjen the opportunity to accompany her south.

 _There always has to be a Stark in Winterfell_ , she knew.

Now as she took her leave from her father, she felt tears burning in her eyes, but tried to hide her sadness as she placed a last kiss on her father’s cheek.

“I shall visit you in good time, dear child,” he had promised her, but Lyanna knew it would be long before she would see him again. “And beware of the King. They say he has a bad temper.”

“I shall head your advice, father,” Lyanna had promised in return. “Winter is coming.”

“Winter is coming,” her father confirmed with a seldom smile and watched her go.

…

They rode for nearly a weekturn before they reached Moat Cailin, a ruin of twisted towers and ruled over by the crannogmen.

That night they were greeted by the crannogmen or better said their young lord, a certain Howland Reed of Greywater Watch.

He offered them fresh fish and advise against the mosquitos that terrorized these parts of the Neck.

“You must rub this squashed flower unto your face,” he told the members of the Kingsguard after her and Ben had followed Lord Reed’s advice. “It stinks, but it will grant you a peaceful slumber.”

“Keep your flower to yourself, Lord Reed,” Ser Oswell Whent grumbled after he had sniffed at the squashed plant. “This smells worse than Flea Bottom.”

Only Ser Arthur obeyed, though she had the feeling he only did it to annoy Ser Oswell.

After a restful night, they departed further south and Lyanna was kindly asked to dispose of her riding breeches.

Lyanna did so to please her travelling companions, though it was much more unpleasant to ride with a dress than with her beloved riding breeches.

Brandon had howled with laughter and Benjen had snickered, but Lyanna had repaid him with a kick to his shin, though she had done so later when the Kingsguard been paying attention.

They might think her too dangerous for their Prince.

Thus, they continued further south towards the Riverlands until they reached a placed called the Crossroads where they resided for three whole days as one of Brandon’s companions had fallen seriously ill.

That night she and her handmaid, a shy girl named Serra, shared a room while while Brandon and his companions enjoyed themselves.

Even Ben had been allowed to join, which only helped to darken her mood.

Only when she saw Brandon empty his fast upon the muddy road did she feel a certain amount of satisfaction.

 _Serves him right_ , she thought and kicked her feet in the sides of her horse.

Along the way to King’s Landing they were joined by Ned, Robert Baratheon and Elbert Arryn.

Lyanna was glad to see Ned and she quite liked the shy Elbert Arryn, but Robert Baratheon seemed in an ill mood as if someone had stolen his favorite toy.

“He is heartbroken,” Ned told her with a sad smile. “He hasn’t touched a cup in weeks. That is a bad sign. Even Jon thinks so.”

With Jon he meant Lord Arryn.

Lyanna could only shrug her shoulders.

What did expect of her? To weep that Robert Baratheon did something reasonable and stopped drowning himself in wine?

She had never wanted a match with his beloved Robert. Nor did she want to wed this Prince or any other Lord, no matter how silly that sounded. Better would be for her to marry some northern lord. Then she could stay at home forever and raise Brandon’s children.

“Brandon needs a Lady to break his heart. Mayhaps then he will start behaving himself,” was all that Lyanna replied and returned to her tent to curl beneath her furs.

That night she dreamed of dragons.

…


	2. The Dragon's Court

The ruins of Summerhall were cast in twilight. Red and violet mixed with the last rays of sunshine, giving the appearance of a very colorful painting.

Rhaegar liked to imagine how he had once looked before its destruction. Ever since his mother had told him the truth about this place, he had come here regularly to visit the ruins. When he was younger he was drawn here by pure curiosity so common to children. His younger self had hoped to find a dragon egg, but he had been sorely disappointed. All he had found were burned ruins and thorny bushes.

 _One day I will rebuild this place that had been his mother’s joy_. Even his father had supposedly spent happy days in this place. Now he was ever scowling and starting to fear his own shadows.

 _The Targaryen madness_ , the court whispered, but Rhaegar knew better. His father’s fragile state was the result of the treachery at Duskendale and what had been done to him during his imprisonment…

Brushing these thoughts away he closed his eyes and imagined Summerhall in all its splendor. In his mind Summerhall’s walls rose with sky reaching towers and walls made of shining dragon glass.

Yet it was only a short reprieve, for when he opened his eyes he only found the blackened ruins, the result of his grand-grandfather’s madness and the source of Rhaegar’s sadness.

 _You were meant to be a sacrifice to bring back dragons_ , his mother had given him the bitter truth when he was barely ten years old. _You were meant to wake dragons from stone like the woodswitch foretold._

Yet, here he was. Alive and breathing.

Why was he still alive if he was meant to be this Prince and bring forth dragons?

Rhaegar had spent half his life trying to make sense of it all, but so far he had only found more tales and prophecies, enough to occupy his mind for a lifetime.

All he knew was that King Aegon must have made a mistake.

“Brother,” a familiar voice called him back to the present. Rhaegar forced his eyes open, a blood red sky stretching over his head and a handful of stars flickering in the distance. He lay stretched in the middle of the great hall surrounded by grumbling ruins and foliage. “Are you done dreaming?”

Rhaegar sighed and brushed his hair out of his face, before gracing his brother with a smile.

Daeron looked much like Viserys. Slender, sharp-faced and graced with lilac eyes, though he shared Rhaegar’s quiet demeanor.

“Is it already time to leave?”

His brother jerked his head at Arthur, who had already packed up their camp and was waiting for them to join him.

“Aye, your bride is waiting for you,” his brother jested. “And Arthur is getting impatient.”

Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders and pulled his cloak around his shoulder. Then, he picked up his harp and left the ruins of Summerhall behind him.

Like always he felt strangely sad. Once he returned to court he would find himself under his father’s thrall and his upcoming wedding didn’t help to lift his mood.

He disliked such festivities and he hardly knew this girl.

It was more a bother than anything, but necessary.

 _A Prince needs heirs_ , his mother had reminded him before his departure. She had sounded sad for she had hoped to see his sister Shaena wed to him barely a year ago. Yet, his sister had chosen to take the veil. There was no use in wrecking one’s mind about it.

The Stark girl would be his bride.

Sighing deeply, he graced his brother with a smile and urged his horse into a gallop.

“To King’s Landing.”

…

It took them nearly half a moon before they reached King’s Landing. It was not a place Rhaegar held much love for.

The smell and the people were more a pain than a pleasure.

It was another place he wanted to tear down and rebuild in his dreams, though that would take more than a lifetime.

 _A task for my children_ , he thought with amusement as he watched the approaching riders from the ramparts. _I shall lay the fundament._

Rhaegar counted around thirty men, the grey and white banners of House Stark blurred and barely visibly in the distance.

“We should go and greet them,” Daeron reminded him.

“We shall,” Rhaegar confirmed and felt a certain amount of anxiety washing over him. His experience with women was basically non-existent, safe for a brief encounter with a whore when he was ten and four.

It had been a nameday gift by his father. A gift Rhaegar couldn’t have refused even if he wanted.

His father might have thought him an unworthy heir if he refused to do the deed.

The riders were pouring into the courtyard when they had climbed down the steps.

First came a tall and bearded young man with sharp grey eyes. His beautiful grey bear cloak made him believe that this was Lord Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell.

Next came a man with a similar coloring, but he looked plainer and seemed uncomfortable like a fish out of water. Lord Eddard perhaps or was it Benjen Stark? Rhaegar forgot the ages of the brothers.

The youngest of the brothers came at last and was riding next to a skinny girl with a long dark braid running down her back.

She was garbed in a dress, but sat astride the horse like a man.

It was a strange sight to behold, but then Rhaegar knew little about the North.

Most people in the south considered them barbarians, but to Rhaegar she looked like a normal girl.

A pretty one if a bit too skinny, much like his Lady Mother, who liked to complain that she was not built for the trials of childbirth.

Not that their father cared about that. His mother had born him three living sons and yet he was again seeking out her bed.

 _Soon he will be gone_ , Rhaegar knew and forced a polite smile over his lips as he made his way towards the heir to Winterfell.

“Lord Brandon,” he greeted the younger man. “Welcome to King’s Landing.”

Brandon Stark gave him a curt nod and climbed from his horse.

“A pleasure, your Grace.”

Then, he waved his hand at the skinny girl and his brothers.

“On behalf of my Lord Father I have the honor to present to you my sister, Lady Lyanna Stark and my younger brothers, Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Benjen Stark.”

“Lord Robert Baratheon and Lord Elbert Arryn joined us on the road, but took residence in the city. They will join us for the wedding,” he added and gave his sister an expectant look.

The skinny girl laughed and graced him with a disarming smile.

“I am Lady Lyanna.”

“Lady Lyanna,” he returned the greeting with another smile. He was no good mummer. “Welcome to King’s Landing.”

The girl chuckled as if he said something particularly funny.

Rhaegar’s cheeks burned. He didn’t know what to make of her laughter. Was she teasing him?

“Anyway,” he said and tried his best to bridge the silence that was spreading between them. “My Lady Mother is most anxious to meet you and has prepared a chamber in the Maidenvault.”

“The Maidenvault?” the girl asked, a mischievous smile washing over her rosy lips. Up close she looked even prettier. Especially, her grey eyes. “That’s were King Baelor imprisoned his sisters so couldn’t be tempted by his desires.”

“Indeed,” Rhaegar confirmed and was pleased that the girl at least sported basic knowledge about his family history. His Lady Mother had feared she might lack such knowledge as the North was according to her view a barren place without books. “They say his ghost still haunts these halls.”

“Wonderful,” she replied and lowered her head, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. “I find ghosts quite exciting.”

This roused Rhaegar’s curiosity.

“What about ruins?”

Lyanna Stark’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Ruins are also exciting, your Grace.”

Rhaegar didn’t know why, but in that moment his heart skipped a beat.

Mayhaps this arrangement wouldn’t be such an unpleasant arrangement as he had feared.

He found he quite liked the girl’s disarming nature.

…

Rhaella watched her son’s entrance from her place beside the Iron Throne.

Her thighs ached from the last night, but she was anxious to meet her son’s bride, the girl that was meant to replace her sweet Shaena.

It wasn’t like she held any ill will towards the girl, but when she thought of her poor child she couldn’t help but to feel bitter.

She didn’t deserve what had happened to her. To find herself spoiled by a monster in such a vile manner. Truly, her only consolation was that Ser Arthur had dealt the Smiling Knight a quick death.

Her husband had desired a crueler fate, but there was only so much one could do with a dead man…

All she could hope was that this girl would please her husband, but also her son.

She knew nothing about the Stark girl and had not approved of her husband’s choice, but when Aerys was set on something it was hard to dissuade him.

Thus, she would do her best to turn the girl into a proper Queen.

Smiling she watched as the doors were opened by the guardsmen, allowing her son, the Starks and her new good-daughter entrance.

The smile was meant for her son, but her eyes were fixed on the girl.

Lady Lyanna Stark was half a child. Skinny, slender and brown-haired which was kept in a long braid, though her appearance and her dress was pleasant enough.

She was dressed in a pale dress that flowed around her slender figure like a waterfall, a silver direwolf holding together her grey cloak and a single blue rose braided into her hair.

Most ladies at court would call it plain, but that could also be a good thing. Rhaegar didn’t share her husbands taste for lavish clothing and feasts.

Perhaps a rustic girl like that suited him better than a southern girl.

“Come closer,” Aerys grumbled and leaned forward in his spiky chair. For once his clothing was not tattered and devoid of stains, but his crown sat lopsided atop his untidy silver hair and his beard was growing too long. “I want to see the girl.”

If Lady Lyanna was afraid it didn’t show on her face.

Her face was an unreadable mask as she dropped a curtsy.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, your Grace.”

“You are thin,” her husband remarked inappropriately as ever. “And short.”

To her credit, continued to smile.

“I am only ten and three. I was told that I would grow.”

Rhaella froze when she heard this blunt answer, but Aerys’ attention was already directed elsewhere, namely at his son and the rest of their guests.

“Who of you is Brandon Stark?”

“That would be me,” Brandon Stark, the tallest of the three young man replied loudly and knelt, his brows furrowed. “It is my pleasure to be here.”

It was clear that he held not much love for his King.

“Why did your father not come? Is the dragon’s presence not good enough for your Lord Father?”

Brandon Stark’s expression darkened only more and he was about to open his mouth, but Lady Lyanna spoke first.

“There always has to be Stark in Winterfell, your Grace,” Lady Lyanna explained with a smile. “It’s a very old belief.”

Aerys frowned and eyed the girl once more.

“Well, we hall not deprive Lord Rickard of his frozen homeland,” Aerys mocked and eyed the girl once more. “Tell me girl, is it true what they say about the North? Are your people feasting on human flesh?”

Rhaella tightened bit her lips. This was the kind of question she had feared.

Yet, Lady Lyanna’s answer was even more surprising to her.

“The man from Skagos eat human flesh, your Grace,” Lady Lyanna replied. “I heard it tastes like chicken.”

Rhaella gasped and so did several of the ladies standing lined against the walls of the throne room, but her husband seemed surprisingly calm, a twisted smile curling on his lips.

“Only barbarians would feast on raw flesh,” her husband replied approvingly. “Dragons are not barbarians and it is good to know that you aren’t either.”

Lady Lyanna smiled hesitatingly.

“I am glad too, your Grace.”

“Good,” her husband replied and nearly tore his robe on the sharp blade of the throne. “The wedding shall be celebrated in a weekturn from now.”

Rhaella sighed in relief.

She still didn’t know what to make of the Stark girl, but it could be worse. There was potential to be found in that girl.

At least, she was no fearful flower. She would need a fighting spirit to survive the Dragon’s Court.

So much was sure.

…

On the next day, after Rhaella had overseen the preparations for the wedding, she finally found the time to seek out her son’s bride.

As expected she found the girl surrounded by the three seamstresses Rhaella had employed for the wedding.

Standing atop a wooden stool Rhaella thought the girl a poor man’s imitation of a statue, but that was to expected.

Measuring a dress took time and by now the girl’s feet must be numb.

A relieved smile curled on her lips when Rhaella dismissed the seamstresses.

“You look pale, my dear child,” she remarked with a smile and waved her hand at the servant girls that brought freshly-baked bread, butter, wine and a bowl of fruits. “You must be hungry.”

“Very,” the girl replied without hesitation, which was proof of her honest character, not the best trait in a place like this, but then Rhaella had also been rather naïve when she was this girl’s age. At ten and three she had believed her father might allow her to wed a knight she had taken a fancy too, but all her dreams had been shattered when she had been wed to her brother. “But shouldn’t have bothered, your Grace.”

“You need to be healthy, dear child,” Rhaella countered and took a seat at the table. “You know why.”

The girl frowned at that, though she tried to conceal it with a feigned smile.

“I am aware of my duties, your Grace.”

“I am sure you are,” Rhaella replied and waved her hand at the empty seat across the table. “But it is a heavy burden to carry, which is why you must take good care of your health. I also wanted to get to know you, dear child. I cannot say that I am very knowledgeable about the North.”

“My mother has been to court,” the girl remarked after she had taken a sip from her up. “She told me stories about court and taught me how to dress and to sew. I can also play the lute and ride. She died from a fever.”

Rhaella nodded her head, but had a hard time showing her feelings of sadness. She was too used to keep her feelings hidden.

“That is sad to hear. I lost my mother too, though she perished in Summerhall.”

Lady Lyanna fell silent when she heard this and averted her gaze.

“Even in the North we have heard about this unfortunate incident,” the girl replied hesitatingly and placed a piece of bread on her plate.

“It happened a long time ago,” Rhaella assured her with a warm smile and leaned over to touch her hand. “But I brought it up for a reason. My dear son Rhaegar has a certain affection for this cursed place. He might take you there after the wedding…I hope you don’t hold it against him. It is the place of his birth.”

Surprisngly, the girl seemed unbothered by her son’s strange inclinations.

“I shall try to please your son.”

Rhaella felt relief washing over her when she heard this.

“Rhaegar is my oldest babe and he was meant to wed his sister, my sweet Shaena. It grieves me that she has now left her worldly existence behind her, but that is the fate she chose. Being my husband’s heir is not an easy task. My son will need your support. Trying to please him won’t be enough. He like most people needs to be loved.”

Lady Lyanna seemed startled by her question and started to fiddle with the hem of her dress.

And her answer was as honest as ever.

“I cannot promise something I do not know, your Grace.”

Rhaella nodded her head in acknowledgment.

“I never expected more from you, dear child,” she replied, her gaze darting to the rich tapestry covering the crumbling walls. “But let me give you some advice. Do not trust Lady Cersei or any of the other ladies at court. Especially not, Lady Cersei. She is her mother’s daughter and desires to wed my son. I made the mistake to trust her mother. Do not make the same mistake as I.”

Lady Lyanna sucked in a deep breath.

“I shall heed your advice, your Grace.”

“Rhaella,” she corrected the girl with a warm smile. “Please call me Rhaella."

…


	3. A Wedding

Daeron watched his brother as he continued to sip on his cup, his dark indigo eyes fixed on the sky. He knew what he was hoping for; a bleeding star to foretell the coming of the promised prince.

Daeron thought it all nonsense, especially because this talk of prophecy had been the cause of his mother’s unhappy marriage to his father, but then Rhaegar was also his brother, a brother that needed his support.

“Counting the stars?” Dearon asked and picked up another bottle as he waited for his brother’s eventual answer. This one was Dornish wine. A fine brew, but they had already drowned one bottle. Mother would chide them if she was here, but then it was also his brother’s wedding eve.

“That too,” his brother replied and lifted his empty cup. “But I am also thinking about our future plans. I wonder if Tywin will still be inclined to support us if I am no longer free to be wed. He is eager to see his daughter crowned.”

“Tywin Lannister is too ambitious for his own good and cannot be trusted,” Daeron replied and filled Rhaegar’s cup to the brim. “Mother would tell you the same.”

“Mother dislikes the Lannisters for a good reason,” Rhaegar granted him and brought the cup to his lips. Wincing, he pulled the cup from his lips. “Dornish wine?”

“Aye,” Daeron confirmed with an amused smile. “Too strong?”

Rhaegar chuckled.

“Gods, yes. How do they manage to drink this kind of brew without losing their tongues?”

“Dornish people are stubborn people,” Daeron offered as a possible explanation. He had visited Dorne a good dozen of times on behalf of his father and knew the Dornish temper well. “Their wine is a result of that.”

“Perhaps,” Rhaegar replied and frowned. “And do you think the betrothal between Viserys and Princess Arianne will be enough to get their support?”

“I am sure of it,” Daeron assured his brother. “But even so. The path lying ahead of us won’t be easy. You know my thoughts on this tourney of yours. I think we should simply kill father and be done with it.”

“Mother would never forgive us,” Rhaegar countered sternly. “And I don’t want to start a war. The tourney is the best solution for our problem.”

Daeron nodded his head, though he disagreed with his brother’s assessment.

“Well, at least your bride is pretty,” he added and tried to change the topic.

“Pretty and far too young,” Rhaegar replied in obvious displeasure.

“Not older than mother when she was wed to our father,” Daeron agreed. “But you need an heir of your own if you are to secure your position. Viserys is all our father’s creature.”

“Our brother is not mad,” Rhaegar remarked in a warning tone. “Spoiled rotten, but not mad. Another reason to force our father into an early retirement.”

“Indeed,” Daeron agreed and deduced by Rhaegar’s demeanor that their talk was at an end. “Indeed.”

…

Arthur felt as if he was wilting away in his polished armor, but then that was the life he had chosen.

Oh, what a naïve and silly boy he had been!

He had imagined the life of a member of the Kingsguard to be full of adventure and grand deeds and in the end it had turned out to be a nightmare.

Sure, he was glad to have met his friend Prince Rhaegar, but serving King Aerys was more pain than an honor.

How Darry was able to stand by as the King was ravishing the Queen was still a mystery to him, but then it was hard to say what was going on in another person’s mind. The King had appeared harmless to Arthur until he had seen the Queen’s blue and red bruises.

The same could be said about his Prince. At first, Arthur had thought him a boring and bookish Prince, but not long after he had joined them on the practice yard and had proven himself a very capable rider and an above average swordsman.

Over the years, he had become the Prince’s constant companion and some at court called him the Prince’s “Fourth brother”, though Arthur would silence anyone who would dare to sprout such nonsense.

It was true. He loved Rhaegar like a brother, but that didn’t mean they were of the same standing. Arthur was a second son and Rhaegar was the Crown Prince and the future King.

Arthur was meant to serve and Rhaegar was meant to rule.

He had always known that, but even a man like Arthur had found himself tempted by the other sex.

That it had been no other that his friend’s sister had filled him with deep shame.

_This should have been Princess Shaena’s wedding_ , he thought as listened to the High Septon’s rattling voice.

He was garbed in colorful robes, but he was nothing compared to the Prince and his bride.

Rhaegar wore shining robes of black silk and an even darker cloak embroidered with a red three-headed dragon. His bride wore a simpler dress of grey silk and embroidered with pearls, but it fitted her better than the spacious gowns the ladies at court liked to wear.

She was a pretty girl as well, even Arthur couldn’t deny that, but she was nothing compared to Princess Shaena, who looked like the maiden reborn.

_She would have made a pretty bride_ , he thought as he watched his Prince replace Lady Lyanna’s maiden cloak with his own. _And a good Queen._

Accompanied by hushed whispering, the High Septon bound the Prince and Princess’ hands together, cursing those that would dare to tear them asunder.

What followed was a brief kiss, clapping and the rather quick crowning by the King’s hands.

Arthur had seen the discomfort written over Princess Lyanna’s face as she had knelt before the King, who had looked even worse than he had during their first meeting. His red cloak had been torn and his beard had looked as if he hadn’t shaved it in years. His lilac eyes had also held this look of frantic fear that could easily mistake for madness.

…

Ned had never felt greater discomfort.

After spending many years in the Eyrie he had believed that he had gotten used to the south and its different customs, but it seemed that was another delusion.

The heat and the noises of the people made him want to flee from the hall and yet that wasn’t possible.

This was after all his sister’s wedding, though he had never expected that it would be the Crown Prince who would wed his sister, but his oldest friend Robert Baratheon.

_What is done is done_ , Ned thought and felt that the wedding could have been much worse. Lyanna had kept her tongue and had acted a Lady throughout the whole ceremony. Only when the King had crowned her had she shown a glimpse of her true thoughts towards the King.

_How was the mad man_ , Robert had asked him after his first audience with the King and as always Ned had kept his mouth to prevent his friend from doing something stupid. Lyanna’s betrothal to the Prince had displeased him greatly and an angered Robert was always unpredictable...

Throughout the day, Ned had kept a good eye on his friend, though he had been occasionally forced to part from him to partake in the ceremonies. While the King had shown his family not much kindness, protocol dictated that he and his siblings had to walk right behind the royal procession.

Ned doubted the smallfolk cared about them, but today was a wedding and a wedding also meant that they would get the leftovers of a lavish feast. For some it would be the first proper food of their lifetime.

Yet the King himself had received nothing but muted cheers as he had passed by, but his wife seemed beloved by the womanfolk. They offered her flowers and thanked her for the coins the little Prince Viserys was throwing at them.

The Crown Prince seemed even more popular, though with a father like that the bar was set relatively low.

Ned himself didn’t know what to make of the Prince. He was a very somber man. Lyanna was wild and spirited and she would have need of someone that appreciated such qualities, but the Prince didn’t make such an impression on him.

That the King and the Prince seemed to hold great dislike for each other worried him even more. He like Brandon feared that their little sister might get caught right in the middle of such a deadly struggle.

Brushing these thoughts aside he focused his attention on the feast, which was not hard, because when they had returned back to the Red Keep he was finally able to return to his friends, Robert and Elbert Arryn.

Still, Ned couldn’t help but to observe the Prince and his sister.

The Prince’ demeanor remained tense and indifferent. It was not hard to say that he was nervous by the way he was constantly grabbing for his cup of wine and pulling on his robes. Lyanna seemed also nervous, though he believed it was for a completely different reason.

Ned had no doubt that Old Nan had instructed her about her wifely duties, but to Ned she was still half a child.

“Even your sister is going to lose her maidenly virtue, Ned,” Robert’s jesting voice called him back to the present, his voice laced with obvious displeasure. “I think it’s time for you to lose your virtue as well.”

Ned couldn’t help but to blush. It had been Brandon who had instructed him about these matters, but it was still a topic he liked to avoid.

Robert was the complete opposite. He sowed his seed whenever possible and his little bastard babe in the Eyrie was a result of that, though Ned had hoped that a marriage with his sister might help to keep him to one bed. Truly, if there was anyone who could have tamed Robert’s temper it was his spirited sister!

“I rather not, Rob,” Ned replied and lifted his cup to his lips. When he realized that his cup was empty, he blushed even more, which seemed to amuse Robert greatly.

“I rather not,” Robert imitated him in an unnatural high voice. “Did you hear that, Brandon? Ned can’t even look at women without blushing like a maid? How is it possible that he is related to you?”

“Ned was always the good boy. Even our Lady Mother thought so,” Brandon replied in obvious amusement. “Which is why I must ask you to stop corrupting him.”

Robert roared with laughter.

“I am only thinking of Ned’s health. A healthy lad like him needs to use what the gods gave him. Besides, such a wedding is a grand opportunity for such pleasant adventures.”

“A good argument,” Brandon played along and pointed at a Lady at a not-so-far-away table. She was of a slender built, dark haired and wore a violet robe that did nothing to hide her shapely figure. “And I think my brother has already found himself a beauty? Right, Ned?”

It was true, but Ned denied the obvious truth.

“I don’t know what you are referring to, dear brother.”

“Oh, stop playing the blushing fool!” Brandon cooed and leaned over the table. “I saw you staring at her. You should listen to Lord Baratheon’s advice and ask her for a dance.”

Ned was mortified by his brother’s suggestion, but Robert seemed more than pleased that he had found a partner in crime.

And perhaps that was good. It would distract him from the loss of Lyanna.

Sighing deeply, he lifted his cup and drank deeply, before giving his brother a determined look.

“I suppose it is worth a try!”

It had started out so well, but when the Lady’s violet eyes met his he froze and felt the urge to turn around and flee.

“It looks like someone wants your attention, Ashara,” the sun-kissed Lady next to her remarked with obvious amusement. It must be the Princess Elia Martell, but his mind didn’t allow for much thought when such a pretty lady was looking at him.

“I am Eddard Stark…,” he stuttered and dipped his head. “Would you like to dance, my Lady?”

“Lady Ashara,” the Lady introduced herself softly and smiled at him. “And yes, I it would please me to dance.”

Her answer gave him the confidence he needed and he offered his hand to her.

They shared a brief dance, a smile and later a short conversation about his sister, but nothing more.

Yet, Ned’s heart was still beating vigorously when he was returning back to Robert’s side.

“So, what did the Lady say? By the looks of her she is a Dornish woman. They are the best woman to bed. I am speaking out of experience.”

“Robert,” Ned replied in a warning tone and sat down. “She is no wench, but a companion to the Princess of Dorne.”

“Gods, you are such a woman at times!” Robert laughed and patted the serving girl’s head that had taken a seat on his lap. “Why no enjoy yourself for once?”

“I am enjoying myself,” he told Robert and exchanged a silent smile with Brandon.

Without his brother’s encouragement he would have never danced with Lady Ashara.

“I should dance with Lyanna as well,” Ned realized then as he saw her among the crowd, sharing a dance with Benjen, who was even more clumsy than Ned.

He noticed Lyanna’s lack of a smile when he led her to the dance floor.

“Are you afraid?”

A frown was all that he received in return.

“No.”

Ned sighed. He shouldn’t be surprised. Lyanna was too stubborn to admit to her fear.

“You look rather pale.”

“And you have been dancing with Arthur Dayne’s sister?”

“I did,” he admitted hesitatingly and averted his gaze. He didn’t want her to see his red cheeks. “Will that displease Ser Arthur?”

Lyanna giggled.

“Oh, gods no! If it was Brandon I would have been worried!”

Ned returned her smile.

“Well, it is good to see you smile. Still, are you sure that you are feeling well?”

“Of course,” she confirmed and squeezed his hand. Her words sounded feigned. “All shall will be well.”

Ned watched her for the rest of the night, but he still felt dread washing over him when the bedding was called.

Within the blink of a moment, Brandon was on his feet and pushed these lusty lordlings aside that were trying to get a hold of their sister.

He was only glad that Robert had long left in company of his girl or he might have joined Brandon, who looked on the verge of breaking someone’s nose as he had pushed his way through the crowd.

Once, he had accomplished that he gathered their sister in his arms and carried her where she belonged.

“Don’t be frightened of the Princeling,” Brandon advised his sister and placed a quick kiss on her brow, before throwing a warning look at the drunken menfolk that had gathered not far from the chamber.

“Don’t fret,” Lyanna assured him and squeezed his hand. “All shall be well.”

“Of course,” Ned confirmed and watched as Arthur Dayne closed the door behind his sister and placed himself in front.

…

Arriving fully dressed in her chamber was the last thing Lyanna had expected, but Brandon had always cared little about customs.

Lyanna was thankful for it, though she felt a little bit embarrassed to have need of her brothers’ protection.

Even more uncomfortable was the crown atop her head. It had given her a headache, though that could also be the result of the wine.

She had drowned a good dozen of cups, hoping it would help to ease her fears, but that had been another delusion.

She was scared shitless and that was evident by her wobbly feet and her trembling hands.

She knew what had to be done, but actually doing something was a different matter altogether.

_Calm yourself_ , she reminded herself and took in her wedding chamber.

It was an airy room, furnished with a soft featherbed, rich tapestries and large painted windows.

Especially, the golden dragons carved in the wooden frames were beautiful to behold. She was a wolf, but who said that she couldn’t like dragons aswell? She was after all wed to one.

What surprised her even more was the heap of books hidden behind a curtain.

Lyanna couldn’t help but to gasp. She had never seen so many books in one place. Even the library of Winterfell didn’t sport as many books as the Prince’s chamber.

Yet, these amused thoughts were banished from her mind when the door opened and the Prince stumbled inside.

He too had consumed several cups, but it seemed that that the wine had not helped to ease his nerves.

“Are you well?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of anxiety.

Lyanna found his behavior quite endearing and tried not to laugh as she answered.

“I am well. Brandon made sure of that, but I fear one of your guests is going to wake up with a bloody nose.”

A dry chuckle left his lips.

“A wedding without a bloody nose is no real wedding,” he jested and seemed suddenly more at ease as he strode towards the table where a flagon of wine and cups had been left by the servants.

“Do you want more wine?” he asked her, his back turned to her.

Lyanna shook her head.

“I had quite enough, your Grace.”

“Rhaegar,” he corrected her quickly and poured himself another cup of wine. “Please call me Rhaegar. Even Arthur calls me that when we are alone.”

“He is a good friend of yours?” she asked politely and decided it was time to get rid of the heavy cloak still resting on her shoulders. “Ser Arthur I mean…”

“He is like a brother to me,” the Prince, no Rhaegar, confirmed with a hesitant smile. “I haven no secrets from him. The same goes for my brother Daeron.”

“That is good to hear,” Lyanna confirmed with a smile and worked the bindings of her dress. She was thankful that the Queen had listened to her and had allowed her to wear a simple dress that didn’t make it necessary for her to employ a dozen of able hands to undress her. “And since we are talking about names. It is only right that you call me Lyanna.”

“Lyanna,” he replied quietly and placed the cup back on the table. Discarding his cloak in one sweep, he crossed the room and came to stand before her. “Lyanna.”

Lyanna, who had finally managed to open the bindings of her dress, pulled once more and held the rest of her garment with her other free hand in place before it could slip down and leave her naked.

He must have noticed her discomfort, for his face had immediately changed back to its usual sullen expression.

“I would love to forgo the this custom until we know each other better, but my father is not a very patient man…In fact, he is most likely waiting outside that door and will send us the Grand Maester once the deed is done.”

Lyanna hadn’t expected anything less. In the North the men sometimes remained in the wedding chamber to watch the couple or at least that is what Brandon had told her.

This seemed almost harmless.

And it could be worse. The Prince seemed reasonably sober for a man deep in his cups and smelled better than most men that had gone through such an ordeal. He was also quite pleasant to look at.

“You don’t need to apologize. I know what is expected, though I am a maid…and do not quite know what to do.”

“Are you sure?” he asked her once more and drew closer, searching her face with his indigo eyes. He smelled nice. Of flowers and lemon.

“I am sure,” she replied and touched his hand. It felt warm and pleasant and she was glad when he didn’t pull away. Then, she let go of her garments and allowed them to drop to the ground. “But to do this you must…shed your own garments?”

The Prince, no Rhaegar, gave her an almost boyish smile. It made him appear younger than his years.

“I suppose,” he replied and started to discard his clothing, allowing her to watch.

Lyanna felt her cheeks burn, especially when she laid eyes on his nakedness, but all these silly fears were quickly forgotten when he placed a soft kiss on her lips and brushed his hand over her shoulders.

His touch filled her with a foreign feeling. There was heat coiling in her stomach as she returned his kiss and her nimble fingers sought his soft silver hair.

Suddenly, she was on fire, burning from the top of her head to the tip of her toes.

His hands were everywhere, touching and probing.

Somehow, she didn’t know how it had happened, she felt herself pressed into the soft mattress of the featherbed.

“It might hurt,” he warned her, seeking for her approval.

She knew that. Old Nan had even told her that she might not care for this kind of duty, but if the warmth in her stomach was any indication she had the foreboding feeling that the whole act might please her after all.

Thus, she graced him with an assuring smile and opened her legs.

“That is to be expected as well.”

“As you wish,” he replied softly and made her his own, his mouth stifling her cry of pain, though that pain was soon forgotten and exchanged with a warmth far more pleasing…

…


End file.
